Illumination
by Daalny
Summary: Season 5 snippets from itv trailers for Batwings79
1. Chapter 1

Strike a match, wait for the flame to blossom over the matchstick. With this small flare a candle can be lit for light. Perhaps a lamp for reading or a stove so that food could be cooked. Electricity had slowly taken over more and more items. Oil lamps have given way to corded lamps, in higher end restaurants the candles on tables had given way to the electric lights. However, the flame still had quite a hold the electric stove had been cannibalized during the Great War and many were reluctant to return to it. Matches and flame were still a comfort to many.

Downton Abbey was becoming an oddity. Many of the large estates were no longer the ideal that people aspired for. The Great War had not only cannibalized the electric stove, the class system was was slowly starving to death. The grand pile of bricks was modernizing, a refrigerator as well as various new kitchen implements...electric.

While the some of the arteries of the building were being replaced with electricity the heart of it remained with the flame. The great fireplace, indeed all of the fireplaces were lit each night. The flicker of orange and red giving warmth and light to those cloistered within. Tonight there had been a party, a dinner party. Isobel had been invited personally by Mary with the suggestion that she come early to play with George. The grandeur of the Abbey still had the ability to move Isobel. She had seen some happy times within its walls as well as some unhappy ones. Since the party was still a good three quarters of an hour away she watched as a footman began relighting a some candles which had gone out. She watched transfixed as match was struck before being placed next to the wick. The moment the wick caught was noticeable for the flame had doubled. The next wick was was relit and soon the polished silver candelabra was back to its full glory.

Lady Edith had found dinner wearisome yet she had plastered on her smile and got through it. All she wanted to do was sleep but now that she was in bed she found sleep elusive. Besides an electric lamp her bedroom had a fire as well. The words of her book swam before her eyes and in a fit of frustration she threw the book against the wall. Hidden away in her nightstand were the letters that Michael had written her. Before Germany, before Switzerland. Aunt Rosamund had taken the other papers, the ones about her daughter for safe keeping. Edith knew every word of the letters Michael had written her she knew every crease of the paper. Why she still kept them she didn't know. Making a decision she got out of bed and retrieved the book she had thrown. Instead of getting back into bed she reached into her nightstand gathering the letters before looking longingly at the fireplace.

Phyllis Baxter was trying to be brave, courage was not her strong suit. She was not going to be a marionette for Thomas Barrow. She had a small diary in which she had logged her "reports" she would no longer be needing it. Her quarters were quite small but she had the luxury of being in a single room and there was a small fireplace.

Flames consumed secrets, flames consumed memories, flames consumed everything. Two women burned their past watching the paper curl and shrink from the heat. They watched as the paper became ash and fell to the bottom of the fireplace. Both knelt before the fire long after the offering had been sacrificed. The fires eventually died down and they went back to bed.

In her room Daisy Mason read by the light of an oil lamp. She prefered the soft glow instead of the harsh glare from an electric light. She had had a letter from Alfred, inviting her to the Ritz. He would cook a meal for her if she came. The date had been set with Mrs. Patmore and she had penned her reply earlier that morning. Tonight she reread his letter along with the letters that William had written her during the War. Instead of fire consuming paper it seemed to be caressing it. Igniting hope and the possibility of many things.

A guest room had been made for Isobel, she had been noticeably tired during dinner. Mary had discretely summoned Mrs. Hughes and asked for a room to be made up for her. The fire in her room had long since burned down, the embers twinkling red in a sea of grey. Isobel Crawley slept.

Matches and flame were also still used in the hospital. The main ward was bracketed with rows of windows. The natural light was pleasing and didn't require the use of oil lamps which could actually be a danger to patients. In the rear of the hospital Dr. Clarkson struck a match to light a small spirit lamp. A sample needed to be heated. It was late and while the nurses were capable of performing the task he wanted to perform it. The sample was negative for the protein he was testing for. He wrote the result down on a notepad before rolling his head on his shoulders to relieve the ache.

A noise began to permeate through the hospital, a warbling roar. Moving to the side exit Dr. Clarkson saw people of the village streaming out in various states of undress. Men in nothing more than trousers and women in nightgowns with coats thrown on over top.

"What is it?" He shouted.

A farmer turned to him, "Fire! Fire at the Abbey!"

Clarkson grabbed his medical bag before yanking his bicycle free. Soon he was pedaling towards the Abbey. The sight that greeted him was almost out a dream. Flames hissed from the east end of the Abbey, even in the dark of the night the black smoke could be seen for it blocked out the stars. Some of the villagers were merely standing around. No doubt the brigade would be here soon. Lord Robert's father had invested in the fire service for Grantham. No silly business with firemarks! A group of people were standing near the Abbey. Clarkson drew close to them. Tom Branson was holding his daughter to his chest. He was clad only in pajama bottoms while Sybbie was bundled in a blanket. Mary and George were bracketed by Edith and Lord Robert and Lady Cora. Lord Robert was shouting, "Are they all out?"

Clarkson let his bicycle clatter to the gravel and went over, "M'Lord?"

"Doctor! Are they all out? Is everyone out?" Robert babbled.

"Let's move everyone to the lawn where I can get a look at all of you and we can start a headcount." Clarkson said authoritatively.

Everyone obeyed him, as Lord Robert moved he was still talking, "Hall boys...maids...Isobel!"

Clarkson's head whipped towards the Abbey, "Isobel, was inside?"

He desperately wanted to go into the building to look for her but he couldn't. More bodies were moving towards the group on the lawn and some were in need of medical attention. Smoke inhalation would probably be the bulk of his patients. They would need supplemental oxygen therapy at the hospital. A footman had a burn on the leg, a pinched yelp caught his attention. As he turned he saw a maid grimacing being supported by Isobel. Instantly he moved towards them. In the mad scramble to evacuate the building the maid had fallen. Glancing at her wrist he knew it was broken, "Colles' fracture." he murmured. The night was cold, many who had fled the abbey did so with blankets draped around their shoulders. Isobel shivered in the night air and without a thought Dr. Clarkson shrugged out of his long white coat and handed it over.

Another voice was calling for him, his eyes met Isobels and she nodded. She directed the maid to sit down and she went about finding something to splint the arm with.

Carson was hunched over a hand on his chest. Fearing a heart attack he had the man sit before listening to his chest. Tom Branson appeared, he had gathered some lanterns from the garage along with some blankets and was distributing them. Sybbie was helping to carry the lanterns, mindful to stay next to her father's side. The brigade had arrived and was beginning to pump water onto the fire. How long it would take no one knew. How much the Abbey had burned no one knew. Mrs. Hughes performed the headcount twice making sure no one was missed and no one was. Everyone who was inside Downton Abbey had made it out. The patients with smoke inhalation were taken to the hospital as as everyone else. There were enough beds for everyone to sleep. While Isobel could have gone to Crawley House she decided to stay at the hospital. She was able to help tend burns and administer sedatives to those who needed them. Charles Carson was one such patient, seeing the Abbey in flames had nearly destroyed him.

Isobel blended in with the staff, most ignored the fact that she was clad only in a slip and Dr. Clarkson's white coat. A little after three in the morning the ward was quiet. Most were sleeping and the smoke inhalation patients were responding well to treatment. Dr. Clarkson retreated to his office, he raised his arms above his head in attempt to stretch out his muscles. It had been a long day, which he thought would end being hunched over a urine sample! He laughed at the thought before his arms came down.

A door opened behind him and he turned to see Isobel, his coat clutched tightly about her. The moments they had spent together over the past months had been sporadic. Ever since her trip to London he hadn't been pestering her to work at the hospital. He wanted her to enjoy her life as much as she could even with Matthew gone. However, seeing her now like this he realized how much he missed her. In the fraction of a second it took for the emotion to cross his face Isobel saw it.

"Are you alright?" He asked wanting to get her attention off of him.

Isobel scoffed, "Everything is a bit surreal."

Richard regarded her and saw she had soot on her forehead and along one cheek. Turning he moved to his washing basin and filled it before retrieving a clean towel. He called for her and she came to his side where his right hand gently cupped her chin and he tenderly began washing her face. Their faces were mere inches apart and she fought the urge to squirm under his gaze. His touch was soft as he gently used the towel to remove the offending dirt.

Isobel hummed quietly, it had been a long time since she had been cared for. It was so soothing that she found her eyes closing. This fact was not lost on Richard and instead of leading her to the main ward where everyone else was sleeping he led her to his own cot. He used his left hand to swipe down the blankets while his right hand liberated her from his white coat. Once she was supine he covered her with the blankets. He left the door to his office open and sat down at his desk. His electric lamp was off, he could have switched it to review the charts but he didn't. He didn't want illumination from fire or electricity just yet.


	2. Chapter 2

A group had gathered to assess the damage. Edith hadn't wanted to go yet her parents had insisted. When she had gestured to Mary they sighed and mentioned George. Edith was furious, Matthew had named Mary his heir it made sense that she should go and inspect the damage on what might be her home one day. Edith thought of her daughter in the village. She too had a child! Thinking back to last night Edith thought of the letters she had burned. For a fleeting moment she wondered if that somehow had started the fire. Instinctively she knew that it hadn't yet the idea that her actions had somehow damaged the Abbey brought a smile to her face. She clamped her lips together so her father wouldn't see.

The stone had contained the flames, some of the windows had been broken for ventilation leaving a ring of black soot around the edges. Stepping inside gingerly Edith found the rug beneath her feet sodden. The soft wool carpet from India was soaked and filthy. Soot and puddles of water were everywhere. Painting on the wall were damaged. Furniture had been turned over from the fire brigade bringing in hoses. What the fire didn't touch had been destroyed by the water. The grand chandelier had fallen, the crystal glass beads seemed to twinkle like embers. Again the feeling of wanting to smile, to laugh was overpowering Edith. Somehow this was fitting! She remembered how the carpet had been rolled away for her wedding only to be rolled back. Now it would have to be replaced. A giggle was threatening to break through so she excused herself to go outside blaming the smell.

Minutes later her father came out looking forlorn, for a fleeting moment she thought that he would come to her that he would comfort her. Instead he began wailing about the portraits which had been damaged by the water. Edith could take it no longer, "Oh do grow up Papa! You could have lost your family and you're more concerned with a painting?"

"That painting was of the second Earl of Grantham! It was family" He rasped.

Edith was sure the weight on her foot was her jaw. She closed her mouth and turned to leave.

Phyllis Baxter was with Joseph Molesley and a handful of other servants getting a look at the damage. Phyllis too had thought about the diary she had burned. However, common sense prevailed. The servants quarters were on the other side of where the fire had started. The question remained, how did the Abbey catch fire? Normally Barrow would be beside her scowling and scheming. Today he stood apart from everyone and she felt relief.

Molesley was quiet beside Baxter and she felt comforted by his presence. Joseph had seen the distress Carson had been in during the night. While the butler hadn't been born a Crawley that house meant more to him than others who had the Crawley blood. A horn sounded beside them, it was the Dowager Countess in a car no doubt she had come to see the damage for herself.

When the first rays of dawn streamed through the window Isobel shifted in her bed. When she awoke at first she was disoriented. Her eyes were fixed a large wall hanging depicted the anatomy of the arm. The Abbey had no such hangings and neither did Crawley House! Memories came back, of the dinner party and then fire. Looking down at herself she saw that she was in her slip. On the top of the cot lay a familiar white coat. She put it on and padded out into the ward the hardwood floors were cold beneath her feet.

Charles Carson was still sleeping, no doubt the sedative still in effect. Mrs. Hughes was sitting next to Beryl Patmore both of the deep in discussion. As Isobel moved she noted that the servants had segregated themselves from the Crawley's. Footfalls made her look up, a rumpled Dr. Clarkson was making rounds. His suit jacket had gone, his waistcoast had been opened and sleeves had been rolled up. It was strange to see him without his white coat however, she wasn't about to surrender it and traipse around in her slip. Her cheeks burned with the memory of how his eyes had raked over her before he had given her the coat.

With this memory still fresh she padded towards him and said his name, "Richard" was her whisper.

He turned and saw her, once again his eyes took in her form.

"Is something the matter?" He asked softly, his accent thick from a sleepless night.

"I wanted to go home and change...may I borrow your coat for a little while longer?" She asked.

He answered her with a nod while a smile pulled at his lips. The surrealness from last night didn't seem to be fading. The servants at Crawley House had heard about the fire, Isobel answered their questions to the best of her ability. It was strange in the span of 10 hours the theories were wild. Ranging from Barrow with a cigarette to a group of arsonists. Isobel mentally scoffed before running herself a bath, her skin smelt faintly of woodsmoke. When she was dressed she returned the hospital and handed back Richard his coat. Without a word he slipped it on over his rumpled suit at least now he looked more like a doctor. Carson had woken and was insistent on seeing the damage as did the rest of the servants who had remained at the hospital. Clarkson was worried about what might befall the man upon seeing carnage. He packed his bag and joined the servants on their way to the Abbey. Isobel walked with them.

By noon everyone was back at the Abbey. The servants had opened all of the windows to encourage the smell of ash and soot to vacate. The damaged furniture and paintings were removed and placed on the front lawn. When Carsons eyes gazed upon the pile of chairs alongside the heap of the rug he stood stock still. Clarkson was by side and seized his wrist to gauge his pulse.

"I'm all right doctor, just a little taken aback" The butler whispered.

Isobel was able to motion for Mrs. Hughes, she came over and placed a hand in the middle of Carson's back offering support. She knew that the two had a deep mutual respect bordering on something more. It had been plain to see at the train station with Mr. Grigg. She remembered that day, how she had been coaxed out of grieving to care for another. She also remembered that _he _had been there too. Were they any different from Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes? The relationship they had was the same wasn't it? Isobel then felt shiver of shame, Thirsk.

The relationship wasn't the same and Isobel began to move closer to the damaged items. Isobel turned her thoughts back towards the Abbey. There was a time when she had wished for this. Herself had cousin Violet had had an argument. Isobel had said suggested the destruction of the Abbey to prove a point. For a fleeting moment she wondered if this mess was somehow her fault? She stiffened at the thought and gazed at the soot stained walls. This building had intimidated her when she first came to it morphing into the symbol of what she found repulsive of the upper crust of society. When Matthew had married the building represented hope and when he died it represented loss. Seeing it torn from fire she didn't know what to think.

The soft grass had allowed Richard to come close to Isobel without her hearing him. He could see the tenseness in her shoulders. When her head turned to regard him he saw that her eyes were bloodshot and glistening with unshed tears.

"What is it?" He asked.

She inclined her chin towards the destruction, "You ever wish for something and get it?"

Not caring if it was inappropriate he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him.


	3. Chapter 3

Elsie's hand was still on Charles's back as she gazed towards the Abbey, he was grateful for the pressure for it helped ground him. From his position he could see that Dr. Clarkson had his arm around Mrs. Crawley. The others seemed to have paired off as well he noted Baxter was with Molesley. Only Barrow seemed to be by himself. Some of the brick work would need to be replaced, they might be able to remove some from the outbuildings of the garden to match that of the abbey however, it would still be obvious that it wasn't an original piece and he shook his head.

Mrs. Hughes saw this and regarded the abbey. It hadn't burnt down to the ground, repairs could easily be done and she said as much to him and he huffed a breath. "It can be repaired, the floor and ceiling fixed. I'm sure a similar rug can be found and furniture but it's not that."

"Then what is it?" Elsie asked.

"I feel a shaking of the ground I stand on. The nature of life is not permanence but flux... things are changing." He delivered.

Things had indeed changed, normally Isobel would be the one offering comfort to others. Yet here she was on the manicured lawn of the estate of her dead son publicly enjoying the comfort of Richard's touch.

In the days that came Elsie understood Charles's words, the family was bickering. Mary wanted to get bids for the contractors to fix the damage. Lord Grantham had only one contractor in mind and was adamant and the fact that his daughter was challenging him had him seething. Mrs. Hughes watched it unfold and saw the change evolving in the power dynamic. Mercifully contractors were chosen to repair the damage. When it was revealed that the fire had started from the electrical wiring in the chandelier Mary wanted to know if the other wiring needed to be replaced. This led to another argument between father and daughter.

"You can't just rip out everything!" Robert spat. He had remembered how Sir Richard Carlisle gutted Haxby Park for central heating and plumbing and he would be damned if the same thing happened here. A conversation he had with Matthew sprang to mind.

"_You see a million bricks that may crumble, a thousand gutters and pipes that may block and leak, and stone that will crack in the frost_"

"_But you don't._"

"_I see my life's work._"

Was this the issue? Was the fact that Mary was indeed heiress to the estate and capable of making decisions bothering him? The feeling of abandonment was intensified due to the fact that none of his friends were helping him. Truth be told none were in a position to help him. The War had laid waste to estates all over the country. The old way was changing, his daughter was proof of that.

Cora taken interest, she had consulted Simon Bricker an art historian to see what paintings could possibly take the place of the ones that had been destroyed. Robert was pleased by this, at least Cora was trying to restore Downton.

With the money tied up in restoration Isobel's charities were on hold. She occupied her time at the hospital, Richard had given her free reign to run the clinic. It was comforting to be back in a familiar place doing work that she loved. After works hours they gravitated towards one another. Either having dinner together at the the Grantham Arms or at Crawley House. Each evening that they would part she was certain that he would kiss her but he never did.

Over the weeks the repairs to Downton Abbey were moving along. Cora met frequently with Mr. Bricker what wasn't known was that Cora was starting to crave their meetings. They were something to look forward to and after they had occurred she looked back on them fondly. They went to art gallerias together viewing pieces or talked over tea discussing art. Was she in love with him or merely overcome with the fact that a man shared her interest in art? Cora wasn't stupid she had heard the whispers about Robert and the maid Jayne. Nonetheless, she had acknowledged that she was part responsible for ignoring him during the War. The mood between her and Robert as of late was frosty. Talk was only of the Abbey, Edith was distant and Mary was too absorbed in the restoration.

Tonight would be an art showing at a Gallery as Simon and Cora walked through the gallery she made mention of art being displayed on easels.

"Yes, you can choose to highlight a piece by separating like this. If it too much trouble to find a piece the size of the previous one you can pick a favorite and highlight it. Rearrange the others behind it. It wouldn't be the first work around done." Simon informed.

"What do you mean?" Cora asked.

Simon grimaced before smiling weakly, "Well I don't want to talk out of turn but I have consulted on other estates. Many have had to sell off artwork to pay the bills. In an estate such as yours artwork generally isn't noticed. However, if a piece were to go it's presence would be noticed instantly by a rectangular hole. A missing painting can only be passed off for having gone for cleaning for some time until it's asked about."

Cora contemplated his words, the estates were dying there was no denying it. What gave her pause was that this didn't bother her as much as it did Robert. She remembered how Mary and Violet had tried to guilt her own mother into dumping money into Downton. She had meant what she had said to Robert, "I'm American! Have gun will travel."

It struck her then that what she was chasing after was adventure. Life had become stagnant. They spent another half hour at the gallery before they found themselves walking down the steps of the gallery. It was late only a few were about, patrons from the gallery.

"Where will you consult next?" She asked.

"Actually I'll be making my first trans-Atlantic crossing." He said with a mixture of awe and fear.

"America? Which state?" Cora asked her eyes bright.

"Pennsylvania, to the Academy of Fine Art." Simon delivered.

Cora could see that fear of the unknown was overwhelming his enthusiasm.

"Are you afraid of the ocean?" She asked.

"Oh it's not the travel, it's the country. I've heard some things." He muttered.

Cora laughed, "Do tell."

They stopped under a street lamp and slowly he told her of the mumbling of burnt food the mess that was barbecue and tea served with ice cubes. If he were to be believed the United States was filled with cowboys and rogue bands of Indians.

Cora soaked it all in, it was reminiscent of what her family had warned her about when she first toured Britain. Oh how she envied Simon at this moment, he was on the cusp of a grand adventure and she was stuck here.

Simon was still talking, "It's a shame you can't come with me, be my guide."

At this Cora swallowed, she gazed up into the streetlamp staring at the flame flickering behind glass. Truth be told she was seriously considering going with Simon.

**A/N: What Charles tells Elsie is taken from the voiceover for the season 5 trailer**


	4. Chapter 4

Carson was polishing the silver when Mrs. Hughes came in. After she delivered her news he nearly dropped the serving bowl he had been polishing.

"Guests?" he asked with a raised eyebrow

"Lord Gillingham and his valet, Lady Mary has invited him to see the repairs." Elsie said calmly watching Charles for any signs of distress

Remembering to take deep breaths Charles breathed through his nose and out his mouth to calm his heart. He had survived worse, no footmen during the war, a panic attack at the table in front of everyone speckled with a liberal dose of the Spanish Flu...having a lord stay while the house was in tatters would be a piece of cake. More so since Elsie would be the one figuring out which room he would be staying in preferably away from all the banging and shouts of the workers.

Elsie beamed at him when she saw the panic in his eyes switch to determination.

"Tea?" She asked already knowing the answer.

His comical nod had her smiling all the way to the kitchen. Mrs. Patmore knew that smile for she had been seeing it more often. Being a step ahead of her friend she grabbed the kettle. Normally Beryl would have Daisy fill the kettle but she was in London.

The decor of the Ritz was glamorous, for some it could be seen as intimidating. Daisy found it almost comforting for she had seen the Abbey decorated in all it's splendour. She sat at a table near a wall in the restaurant in the heart of the Ritz. Tonight she would dine as one of the chef's guests. What did intimidate her was the people. She had to fight the urge to curtsy to well dressed men and women. Baxter had been helpful, even going as far as to help modernize her clothes on her sewing machine. All who worked at the Abbey had a soft spot for Daisy. The older servants respected her and the younger ones looked up to her. All hoped that her evening would be magical.

Alfred Nugent was handling a sautee pan with ease turning contents so they cook evenly. He was searing scallops and they would be served with carrots and cauliflower puree as the first course offered to Daisy Mason. They had written to one another, she had informed him of Ivy's crossing to America. He had written her of his fellow kitchen mates who had either dropped out or stayed. Recipes were shared as were tips and gossip. He was grateful that she had come. He knew she had been fond of him and he had been so blind. He knew they wouldn't be lovers but he wanted to be a better friend. The scallop was seared and he placed it on the bed of carrots and the puree. He wiped away an imaginary splatter making sure the plate was perfect before placing on the top and announcing, "serve." The plate was placed on a tray and hand expertly balanced it and carried it into the dining room. Alfred took a deep breath and and turned his attention to the lamb. Next would be the cote de veau with truffled creamed potatoes and Madeira Sauce.

Daisy watched in fascination as the waiter came before her presenting her with bone china plate in stark white. The carrots and scallop were flashes of color on top of an offwhite puree. Daisy savoured every bite, committing each taste to memory. She wasn't assistant cook tonight she was diner in the Ritz. When she was done she wiped her mouth with finest cloth napkin. The plate was removed and withing minutes the next course appeared. A beautiful cutlet of veal. It was odd to eat a meal that she herself had not had a hand in. The presentation was gorgeous and she bullied her mind to remember how it was all laid out.

For pudding, as Daisy had called it at the Abbey, he would be preparing chocolate souffle. This was new territory for Alfred, he was not a certified pastry chef. However, his curiosity and his desire to work with food had not gone unnoticed. Emile, the head pastry chef, had let him stand near his station and watch him work. It had taken weeks for Alfred to build up the courage to try on his own. He had permission to prepare it tonight for Daisy. As it was plated and delivered he longed he could sit with her and watch her eat it. The kitchen staff knew of his guest as did the wait staff, they paid particular attention to her. Her smile as she ate the desert was a testament that Alfred a paid attention. After the meal was over another waiter approached her with silver tray and removed a piece of paper.

Panic swept through Daisy, was this the bill? The lighting in the dining room was electric yet the silk shades made the light soft. Daisy tilted the piece of paper and began to read, the smile that she wore was more radiant than any light.

_Daisy,_

_My sweetest friend. You gave me a basket of delicious things once to keep me going on my journey here. I hope this offering can keep you going wherever your journey takes you. __Forever yours,_

_Alfred_


	5. Chapter 5

The hospital clinic was running smoothly. A farmer had come in early for a wound check. Allowing patients to have access on their terms was improving patient health. Instead of people being dragged in by loved ones when disease had taken hold the root cause could be identified more readily. The hospital wasn't being swamped as much. Isobel was wrapping a fresh bandage around the farmer's wrist. When she was finished it was few minutes before the clinic would close and the hospital would open. Isobel found the days long but it she found it rewarding.

Instead of eating lunch around noon, Richard and Isobel were eating two hours earlier having been up since before dawn. They ate in his office, using his desk as a table. It was during this break that Lady Cora came into the Cottage Hospital. Dr. Clarkson intercepted her, "Lady Grantham, what can I do for you?"

"Actually it was Mrs. Crawley I came to see." Cora declared and Clarkson shrank back to his desk where his sandwich lay all the while keeping his ears open.

Isobel stood, the fact that Cora had called her Mrs. Crawley and not Nurse Crawley piqued her interest.

Cora smile seemed strained, "Mr. Bricker would like to view the paintings at Crawley House tonight to see if we might use some to replace the ones lost in the fire."

Isobel frowned, "Do I need to leave?"

"No, No! I just wanted to your permission. He won't be able to come until around eight and I know that a day spent here is tiring." Cora said almost too dismissively.

Isobel wasn't stupid, she knew that Cora wanted her to leave but was giving her the option of staying.

From his desk Richard spoke up, "Aren't you having dinner with me tonight?"

Isobel felt both relieved and annoyed at the same time. She turned back to Cora with a strained smile of her own.

* * *

Cora left the hospital feeling high and excited. She had already inquired about passage to the East Coast of the United States. She had casually mentioned visiting her Mother in Newport to Robert. He was neither disinterested or interested in her desire to go. The idea of Pennsylvania was something that she clung to.

* * *

Isobel was trying to reign in her annoyance, "So where are we going?"

Richard answered her with a grin.

Ever since the fire Richard had been gathering his courage. He wasn't going to fortify his nerves with cider this time. Tonight he would actually tell her what he felt for her.

Dinner was not at the Grantham Arms, it was an upscale restaurant in the heart of York. They discussed the Abbey and Cora.

Richard took a sip of his wine, he had only ordered the one. "I hate to spin gossip but what was that about this morning?"

Isobel knew that Richard was safe in all respects, she could tell him anything. "I think Cora might be having an affair."

Richard's eyes widened, "So seeing the paintings is more like 'would you like to see my etchings?'"

At this Isobel blurted out with laughter only to stuff the cloth napkin to her mouth to muffle the sound.

Seeing her genuinely happy solidified his courage.

* * *

Cora hadn't been inside Crawley House for sometime she tried to remember the last time she had been here. When she did remember she shivered, it had been after Sybil had died for one of Isobel's luncheons. The ticking of the clock seemed unusually loud to Cora's ears. She swallowed down her anxiety.

"This is a nice piece." Simon said finally breaking the silence and pointing to a large portrait of a soldier in an Army uniform hanging in the drawing room of Crawley House.

Cora had primped herself for this evening she had even gotten a new dress made, so far he had said nothing about it. Simon backed away from the wall, "This is large enough to fill one of the spaces you have. Also the coloring of this painting doesn't fit here."

Turning Cora regarded the painting her face in a frown.

"Take a step back" He ordered gently.

Cora did as she was asked and Simon moved to stand behind her placing his hands on her shoulders his palms running of the fabric of her new dress. His left arm then pointed towards the painting, "The color of the subjects jacket it too red for the walls in here. Remember the color wheel? Colors need to complement, if not it makes the room look cold and uninviting."

The weight of his hand on her shoulder and the sound of his voice was better than thinking of Pennsylvania for it was real and it was now.

* * *

Their dinner had been taken away, now they were just finishing their wine. The candle that had been lit at the beginning of dinner had burnt down leaving a clear pool of wax in the glass votive container. The flame was flickering in defiance, as if it could keep burning without its fuel of wax. Isobel took pity on it and leaned over to blow it out. When she straightened herself up she glanced at Richard the look on his face was indescribable. The bill was paid and they left. It was snowing outside, without a word he grabbed her arm and threaded it through his own. Isobel burrowed close to his side, for warmth and for stability for the pavement had been liberally covered with snow. The night was dark yet the snow was catching the light from the lamplight. She remembered a lesson from when she was a girl of how the moon had no light of its own, it was simply reflecting that of the sun.

Logically she knew that the same principle applied to the snow yet in her heart she knew it was different for the snow seemed to glow all on its own. Richard's hand was reflexively clutching and releasing the umbrella he held in his free hand. He couldn't take it any longer he slowed his gait until they stopped. In the middle of a street, while snow was falling, he leaned in and kissed her. Their lips met over and over as the snow fell into Isobel's hair forming a glowing crown..


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't until Richard felt moisture that he realized that the snowflakes were melting in Isobel's hair that he broke the kiss. He didn't want her to become too cold standing out in the snow. Her cheeks held a healthy glow and he brushed his gloved fingers against the soft skin wanting desperately to touch her with his hands uncovered.

Both of the their breath was visible in the night air.

"Richard, what do you want?" Isobel asked.

His courage was still there despite being light-headed from her kisses. "I want to kiss you again. I want to take you to bed, I want to be yours and most of all I want you to want those things too."

* * *

Cora and Simon left Crawley House they had agreed that the painting would be moved to the Abbey. In the morning it would be removed from the wall and wrapped to avoid any damage it might incur while in transit. Simon then began speaking of a final gallery that they should visit.

"You know I heard from my Mother the other day. She wants me to visit." Cora said cheerfully.

"Where is she again?" Inquired Simon.

"Newport." delivered Cora.

Simon shook his head he wasn't familiar with the geography of the United States.

Cora just smiled before announcing, "Eastern seaboard, in the state of Rhode Island." Cora informed him.

They continued talking as they walked, Simon would be staying in a guest room at the Abbey before leaving in the morning. While the weather was cold it was a relatively short walk from Crawley House to the Abbey.

* * *

Edith couldn't sleep, so she left her bedroom and roamed the corridors. In her minds eye she could see Mary and Tom kissing their children goodnight before slipping into bed. Her own daughter had her own bed with Timothy Drewe and his wife. She had visited the other day, the construction noise was the perfect excuse for her to leave the Abbey. While Sybbie and George were residing in the Abbey her daughter wasn't in need. The Drewe's were successful tenant farmers. Also Edith had access to Michael's money, she provided a healthy stipend to the Drewe's for whatever was needed. Her daughter would have access to good schools and most all the other things that her first cousins would have access to.

A part of her was saddened that more of the Abbey hadn't burned. This place had taken so much from her. Mary had ostracized her against Anthony Strallan, the burned soldier who might have been Patrick, the bungled wedding and many others too numerous to count. There was nothing here for her, Mary would be one deciding what went where. Her parents had never really believed in her either, mocking her opportunity to write for the paper sprang to mind. This made her think of Michael. While they hadn't been married she had loved him and he loved her. He was most likely dead. Tom and Mary had the pity and support of Papa and Mama but just a small pat on the head was what she received. Only Rosamund seemed to understand and to a smaller extent so did Granny.

While she had no physical wound Edith hurt. Her body was weary, she had lost weight and visiting her daughter would bring the most agonizing pain when she had to return to the Abbey without her.

Outside of a window she saw two individuals approach, she recognized her mother instantly. The other had to be the Art Historian. Edith watched them her mind supplying a mock dialog which made her smile. Her mother stumbled, no doubt her heel catching on the gravel. The man steadied her and both froze. Her mother wasn't moving away instead she leaned in close as did the Art Historian. It was obvious that her mother and this man were stealing a kiss. The pain in Edith's body was lessened for now she had a secret and secrets were power.

* * *

Barrow was smoking in the servants hall, it was his fourth cigarette in an hour. Others were off either reading books or playing cards together. Baxter was upstairs readying Lady Cora for bed. He knew that she would come down here for tea. It was becoming habit that she and Molesley would share some before bed. Carson was no where to be seen and neither was Mrs. Hughes. While it was common area he had a reason to be here it would be more suspicious he was laying in wait in the corridors. He resisted the urge to light a fifth cigarette.

Footfalls were heard on the stairs and he knew it was her, "Anything?"

Baxter rolled her eyes and sighed, ever since she had burned her diary there had been no more 'reports' no more information.

At this Barrow lost his patience and he shot up from his chair, he crossed the distance quickly his hand clamping around her bicep squeezing tightly. Baxter pulled her arm trying to break his grip. Barrow spoke through clenched teeth, "I know you know something!" he ground out.

The rank smell tobacco emanating from her had her stomach recoiling. "Let me go." Baxter whimpered.

Barrow squeezed harder, the next instant he was shoved to the floor. While Joseph Molesley looked meek he had hidden muscle. Months of stocking shelves, hauling boxes coupled with the weeks spent repaving the road shoveling gravel and mopping hot tar had built his arms and chest. His success against Jimmy in the Strongman game sprang to mind.

From his position on the floor Barrow smirked, "Now, now it was just a misunderstanding."

Joseph ignored him and asked Phyllis, "Are you hurt?"

She smiled shakily, "I'm fine now, thank you."

Baxter strode out of the servants hall with Molesley trailing behind. They passed the boot room and Joseph spoke again, "Are you sure you're not hurt? I'm sure the doctor won't mind-

Joseph stopped speaking when Phyllis's lips touched his. However, he did emit a small squeak before kissing her back. Phyllis eventually pulled away, "I'm fine Joseph."


	7. Chapter 7

Richard had finally told her everything, all the things he should have said at Thirsk. If he were to be struck dead at least he could die knowing he had a clean conscience. The snow was still falling into Isobel's hair making her look ethereal. "I want those things too, I want them so much."

Her words were like a blow to the chest and his breath left his lungs in a harsh pant. Quickly he stripped off one of his leather gloves so he could touch her face properly. Her cheek was warm as he caressed it. When she shivered he remembered where they were. His hand left her cheek to ensnare hers. They walked hand in hand down the snow covered street. The car wasn't far, gallantly Richard opened the passenger side door and helped her inside not before stealing another kiss before he closed her door. He walked around the car opening his own door before depositing himself in the drivers seat. The engine turned over bringing the car to life. The snow continued to fall as they drove along, the headlamps of the car making the snow look like falling stars. While it was tempting Isobel wasn't going to wish for anything.

* * *

Edith thought she could finally sleep, her wounds soothed by the knowledge that she could inflict some on another. At this she paled, she had once asked her mother if she were bad. Destroying another would constitute as bad. Nonetheless, for Edith she felt as though it were in her favor. She was tired of being known as Mary's sister and nothing more. In the coming days she would go to London and check on the paper-idle hands and all that. As she climbed into bed she mentally gave thanks to the fire burning in the fireplace.

* * *

Cora barely noticed Baxter combing out her hair and plaiting it before bed. Her mind was too busy replaying the kiss over and over. Simon Bricker was a handsome man and above that he was passionate. She flushed, for she didn't know exactly how passionate. Yet, the way he spoke about art was full of knowledge and joy. Robert seemed only interested in money.

Her heart sank, the last time Robert had been genuinely full of joy was during the war when he thought he was going to be sent to the front. He had been heartbroken when he finally realized that he was to only be a dressed puppet for the Army. A Lord in costume to boost morale.

The war made her think of Jayne and she tensed. Baxter noticed and placed her hands gently on Cora's shoulders, "Anything bothering you M'Lady?"

"Oh, just things to do. A painting is going to arrive tomorrow from Crawley House and I forgot to tell Carson."

"Let me do that." Baxter said with a smile.

Cora acknowledged her maid with a nod and got up from her table to move to the bed. Not long after Robert appeared the bed dipped as he got and Cora mentally sighed. It was if he had heard her and turned, "What is it my dear?"

She used the same excuse she had given Baxter. What was surprising was that Robert knew exactly which painting she was referring to and gave her a brief history of who the subject actually was. As Cora listened a nagging voice in her head told her stop this nonsense with Simon.

In the morning Cora found Robert had left the bed early and for a brief moment she felt sad until she remembered that Simon would be going to Crawley House to remove the painting and bring it back here.

Baxter appeared with her breakfast. "Thank you Baxter" she acknowledged.

Phyllis delivered the tray expertly and automatically for her mind was elsewhere. Thomas Barrow, the bad penny that always turned up. Her life was good here, she enjoyed the other servants company and her cheeks reddened when she thought of a particular one. She didn't wish to lose that. A quick glance at her watch and she knew that Breakfast for the men would be over in half an hour. She would go to Mrs. Hughes then.

The time ticked by slowly, she tried to occupy herself with her sewing machine but the concentration wasn't there. When Molesley came through carrying a tray she knew the time was nearing. A bell sounded and Mrs. Hughes appeared, it was for her, Lady Cora needed her.

Baxter strode up the stairs to Lady Cora's bedchambers. Suitable clothes were found and Lady Grantham was ready to face the day. When Baxter finally returned to the servants hall she found Mrs. Hughes in her sitting room along with Mr. Carson. She knocked on the door jamb, "Mrs. Hughes, I wondered if I could speak with you."

Carson stood and Baxter bit her lip, "You should stay too."

Charles and Elsie exchanged looks. Phyllis closed her eyes briefly, "It should be known that during the War I was involved with the Black Market."

Elsie was puzzled, the war was five years gone why would she feel the need to tell about her involvement now? Her memory fired as she remembered Beryl confessing to buying the ingredients for a wedding cake on the Black Market. The cook hadn't mentioned Barrow but instinctively she knew that was her contact. She glanced to Carson and saw his face in a deep scowl.

"Did you steal?" Carson demanded.

Baxter shook her head, "No, I was just involved in the delivery of items. The house I worked for, my employer had counterfeit ration books. She procured items, sold them and I delivered."

Mrs. Hughes stood and moved beside Phyllis, "Did someone say something to you?"

There was fear in her eyes but she said, "No."

Charles and Elsie both knew who had threatened her. Carson sighed before he stood, "Thank you for telling us, that will be all."

Baxter was confused and it showed, was she truly free to go or was she going to be dismissed?

"The War made us all do things we wished we hadn't, carry on please." Carson said sagely.

**A/N: Keeping the balls moving (for klswhite)**


	8. Chapter 8

Isobel was nursing a cup of tea in the the nearly empty ward of the Hospital. Currently it was the lull between the clinic's closure and the opening hours of the hospital. In a quarter of an hour Mr. Bricker would be arriving at Crawley House to remove a portrait. Truth be told Isobel didn't care for it, she found portraits in the size of this one to be vanity personified. She preferred landscapes, letting her imagination take her into the painting to run along the stream or lie beneath the trees. Thinking of the painting made her think of Richard's comment about etchings. Her cheeks blushed in remembrance of last night.

_They hadn't spoken in the car on the ride home. Both were drained from their paroxysm of emotion they had declared for one another. Richard still was responsible for getting them both home. Nothing needed to be said and both enjoyed the silence. Isobel had watched the snow beyond the windscreen thinking of each flake._

_When the car stopped outside of Richard's cottage Isobel felt her heart rate increase. Another one of her wishes was about to be granted. Once again he escorted her out of the vehicle and into his home. He quickly lit a fire, the warmth quickly seeping into the space. _

_Electricity was slowly coming into all the cottages in Downton. While Richard had access to it he chose to light an oil lamp. Isobel watched as his left hand struck the match and lit the wick of the lamp. She sometimes forgot that he was left handed. One day they both had been writing across from each at a table their hands directly across from each other as if mirrored. The shade was replaced and she watched as a wisp of smoke escaped the chimney._

"_There" he whispered softly as he turned back towards her. In this light he looked young. It hadn't escaped Isobel that they were both seasoned in years. While they weren't at death's door they weren't exactly young lovers._

Lovers _her mind announced. Her thoughts came to a stop as he held out his hand for her to take. She did and he pulled her flush against him. Both were still clothed, slowly hands began searching for fasteners and buttons. Fabric started to pool at their feet allowing skin to touch skin._

_His hands ran down her arms, letting his hands roam over her skin. When he came to her wrists it was just instinct to encircle them and take a quick measurement on her pulse-it was elevated._

"_Your pulse is racing" He whispered and he gave her a measured look. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel forced into anything. She met his gaze, "I'm anxious and nervous" she rasped before swallowing, "I'm about to do something I haven't done in a rather long time."_

_He smiled to reassure her and she ducked her head shyly. Abandoning his seduction he merely gathered her into his arms and held her, embracing her tightly. Isobel groaned, the feeling of him against her, the warmth of skin and the smell of his soap._

_He was a living breathing creature that wanted nothing more than to be with her and she found that more sensual than the kisses he was currently bestowing on her neck and shoulder. _

_Isobel had been right, it had been a long time since he himself had done this! His head swam, the smell of her perfume and soap filling his brain. The woman in his arms was his. She was his to touch and his to love. He would later tell her that he had fantasized about this, about having her in his arms warm and willing._

_Pulling back he saw her eyes, dilated from desire not fear. Pushing her gently she moved backward towards the bed. Richard took a moment to pull down the covers on the bed. It was Richard's turn to feel anxious, the bed was small not like the one she usually slept in at Crawley House._

_He swallowed audibly and Isobel could feel his tension, "What's the matter?"_

_Isobel watched as he gestured to the bed with his head, "small bed...didn't think."_

_It was Isobel's turn to be reassuring, "We'll fit" she declared before saying it again in a whisper and Richard did not miss her meaning._

_Together they sprawled on the bed, arms and legs tangling together. The confines of the bed increased the feeling of intimacy. Richard distrubuted his weight through his knees and hands so he wouldn't crush her. Ever since his forties he had been mindful of what he ate and in his fifties he had cut back on alcohol to help curb his weight when he noticed his trousers were becoming tight. At this moment he was very glad to be out of his trousers. _

_Isobel's body was warm and in the light from the lamp she glowed. It was humbling as well as erotic. He pushed forward and groaned whilst Isobel emitted a throaty sigh. It had been a very long time indeed. The urge to move was overwhelming and Richard was fighting not to give into it wanting this moment to last. Her hands were upon his back tracing idle patterns a silent message that it was alright for him to move. He gave into his urge and moved._

_Sighs and pants began to fill the room as did the creak of wood, the bed became a metronome beating in time to their rhythm. At this moment both had what they wanted. He was kissing her and she wanted that. She was in his bed and he wanted that. He was hers and she was his and never more so than in this moment._

Isobel's gasped in memory and quickly took a sip of tea to cover her noise. She looked around to see if anyone had noticed, none of the other nurses were near. Only Richard and he was in the corner with a grin on his face.


	9. Chapter 9

Cora had been idling in the library she knew that Simon would be coming soon with the painting giving her yet another reason to see him. The _Akra_ would be leaving port in two weeks for the East Coast of America, she still had time to book passage on it. Just the thought of the voyage made her shiver at the possibility, was she really going to cross the ocean with another man? Was she going to break her vows? A part of her mind screamed that she already had while another just told her it was a mild indiscretion.

These thoughts were shoved aside as she heard the front door open. Simon appeared with Carson directing some footmen. The men were carrying a large rectangle wrapped in brown paper. Noticing the commotion Robert lingered by the door. He watched as his wife and Mr. Bricker spoke rapidly and confidently about the painting going so far as to share a laugh. A space was cleared on a table, Robert smiled at his wife's obvious joy of the painting. Cora began pulling on the string securing the brown paper on the parcel. Mr. Bricker laughed before coming up behind her his own hands coming up over her own to help pull on the knot. It could have been seen as an innocent attempt to help but the way his arms came over and the way Cora leaned back into his touch was anything but innocent.

Edith was walking towards the telephone, her intent to call the _The Sketch_ and let them know that she would be coming in when she noticed that the color had drained from her father's face. Standing beside him she looked into the library and saw the scene before her, that her Mother was once again wrapped up in the arms of Mr. Bricker. Lord Robert finally noticed his daughters presence, as he looked at her Edith raised her head and she said nothing. The Earl of Grantham sucked in a breath as he realized that Edith's silence and absolute showing of non-shock at the sight was confirming his suspicions.

Edith then moved away from her father and continued her way to the telephone.

Robert continued watching his brain trying to rationalize what he had just witnessed. Soon footmen appeared with a ladder and the painting was going to be mounted. Finally Cora and Mr. Bricker separated. His wife quickly ascended the staircase while Mr. Bricker made small talk with the footmen. He climbed the ladder and waited for the footman to pass up the painting. It didn't take long for the portrait to find its home among the others.

"All put back together." A footman declared.

"yes, took some doing to find the right match. I might find some other art in America when I go in a fortnight." Mr. Bricker announced.

Robert's eyes widened and he knew. Turning quickly he fled the library his legs carrying him swiftly down the hallway before taking the stairs two at a time. The door of his wife's bedroom was closed, not caring if it was locked or not he shoved his shoulder against it the door flung open.

Cora turned startled at her husband's appearance. "Do you love him?"

"What are you talking about?" She spat.

"Mr. Bricker! Your sudden desire to see your Mother in America. Do you think I didn't see it?" Robert said harshly.

Cora looked at her husband, she truly looked at him. All the passion that she thought he had lost was on full display now. Simon had reminded her of what Robert had been like thirty years ago. He had been slimmer and so full of life. She had married that man, went on adventures with him and started a family. The years had changed them all. The folly of youth being replaced with useful hesitation. Seeing her husband now, with his fists clenched and teeth bared she knew that the Robert she had fell in love with was still there very much part of the man she had grown tolerate over the past months. Her insides had turned to water, her father had described this very feeling when he had played cards in high stakes match for the first time. The euphoric feeling of having a winning hand being dashed by another's hand being revealed. Was she about to lose everything? Her mind thought of Rose's parents, their open hate for one another. Would she stay married to Robert in name only? Would he ship her off to her Mother and tell the papers it was because of her brother? The faces of Sybbie and George flashed into her mind and she couldn't breathe.

* * *

While Cora was feeling the weight of the world crushing down upon her Phyllis was feeling the lifting of the weight from her shoulders. She was free, Thomas Barrow had no hold on her. No one had any hold on her anymore. Any mistakes she made from now on she would admit to as soon as she made them. Happily she went to her sewing machine to mend the hem of a dress.

* * *

At the hospital the smiles were quickly wiped off the faces of Isobel and Richard. Two villagers burst into the hospital carrying a third. William Molesley had been found among his roses. Cursory examination showed no outward injuries. Most likely he had suffered a heart attack. Listening through his stethoscope Clarkson noted bradycardia and called for atropine. The chances of the atropine restoring full function of the heart were limited and with the advanced age of Bill Molesley it was unlikely that heart wasn't undamaged to begin with. "Telephone the Abbey."

Isobel did as she was instructed, snatching the phone and asking the operator to put her through. In the servants hall Carson heard the buzzing of the telephone and answered it. He listened quietly as Mrs. Crawley briefly described the situation and gave the news that this would most likely be the last time that Bill Molesley would be able to speak to his son.


	10. Chapter 10

Carson replaced the earpiece on the phone and strode towards the stairs that would lead him into the heart of the Abbey. He would need to find Molesley himself, news like this had no business being transmitted second or third hand. Methodically he began searching for him, Barrow saw Carson and knew from the look on the butler's face that something was amiss. Instantly he thought of Baxter, his cheeks reddened in remembrance of how Molesley had flattened him on the floor.

He was glad that O'Brien was no longer at Downton Abbey for he would have never heard the end of it. He had told her once that the devil was in the details. He abandoned his workstation and went to follow Carson.

"May I help Mr. Carson?" He asked.

Carson didn't stop, he merely grunted, "no."

Barrow shrank back, he knew not bother the Butler further. Eventually Molesley was found on the grounds wrangling a ladder back into a workshed.

"Joseph" Carson called.

At hearing his name being called from the head butler he rolled his eyes. They had gone over this months before, all had agreed to keep calling him Molesley instead of using his Christian name. When Molesley turned he saw that Carson's face was not in its usual scowl. Joseph's brain quickly put together that the Butler was here as Charles-a friend. Dusting his hands of he went towards the man to hear what he had to say.

Isobel and Richard had Bill Molesley bundled in a bed. When they began putting screens around it he groaned. Instantly Dr. Clarkson was by his side, "Are you in pain?"

"Want to see" The old man rasped as a gnarled finger pointed at the window. Richard nodded towards Isobel and the screens were removed. If Bill wanted to die being able to see outside it would be done. soon there was a commotion at the entrance. A sweating and out of breath Joseph Molesley had arrived. Isobel fetched him a glass of water that he quickly downed. Richard led him and waited for his breathing to normalize.

"Your father suffered a heart attack, he's been given atropine to try and normalize his heartbeat but the rhythm isn't steady." Dr. Clarkson informed him.

Joseph shook his head trying to absorb the information. "how long?"

Richard opened his mouth as if to say something but stopped. This was one question he never had a good answer for. He sighed through his nose, "He's awake and asked for you."

Isobel put her hand on the younger Molesley's arm and led him to where his father lay. A chair had already been put beside the bed and Joseph all but collapsed into it. On an intellectual level Joseph knew this day would come, he had already faced it with his Mother. Nonetheless, seeing his father in bed slowly turning from pink to grey he was terrified. Bill began speaking to his son, his voice halting and weak. Dr. Clarkson and Isobel checked in at intervals but for the most part left the pair alone. Half an hour later Joseph called for Clarkson. Bill was in pain, orders for morphine were given. The narcotic allowed Bill to calm but it also made him sleepy. Bill was determined to pass on his wisdom and told Joseph the things he found of importance.

While Isobel was strong stomached with medical procedures this open display of emotion was overwhelming and she excused herself. Matthew had passed his wisdom on in a letter that he had prophetically written before he died Clarkson had chosen to stay, keeping his distance by another bed. Bill's breathing was lengthening, starting to crackle, and he was fighting to stay awake.

"I want you to take care of my roses, son," he coughed and wheezed before continuing, "You tend them and it'll be like I never left."

Richard hung his head trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. Joseph whispered his promise that he would. A quarter of an hour later William Molesley died.

Dr. Clarkson offered to drive Joseph back to the Abbey but he politely refused. He walked back to the Abbey on foot.

Carson was fuming, already word of Mr. Molesley's absence had circulated through the Abbey. With that circulation rumors and wild theories were running amok. Adding fuel to this fire was that Lord and Lady Grantham hadn't been seen since morning and no call bells had been received. Mr. Bates had hissed to two maids that they should mind their business when he had heard that Mr. Molesley had gotten drunk in public and had been dismissed on the spot which had lead him to run through the village.

It was dinner time in the servants hall when the wayward footman came in. At first everyone was stunned, it was Baxter who moved first coming swiftly to his side and running a hand lovingly through his hair publicly showing everyone her loyalty. Mrs. Hughes offered her sitting room and stood to lead Baxter and Molesley to it while Carson went to fetch some brandy. Officially John Bates was not next in command. However, unofficially everyone looked toward him. He gave a small smile to Mrs. Patmore and Daisy while leveling his cold glare at those who had spoke out of turn earlier that day. Anna reached for his hand under the table and he squeezed it gently.

Carson passed by the table again in one of his hands he held a snifter with a healthy measure of brandy. As he moved towards Mrs. Hughes's sitting room John Bates picked up his knife and fork a silent signal that everyone should resume eating. With the command given soon the sound of silverware clinking on plates filled the air. Carson saw that Baxter and Molesley were seated on the only available chairs. The lady's maid was talking softly to the footman.

"Joseph" Carson said garnering the man's attention. He then held out the glass which Molesley took with shaking hands, he huffed a breath. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

The drunken Scottish Reel Mr. Molesley had performed and Duneagle had become legendary. Carson bit the inside of his cheek, "just this once."

The butler left and covertly looked at the servants table, everyone was eating, mentally he thanked John Bates. His eyes noted that Elsie hadn't returned, she hadn't been in the sitting room either. His ears heard a sniffle and he followed it finding the head housekeeper in the boot room. He could of pretended not to see her, he could have returned to his dinner but he didn't. So many times this woman had given him comfort the from the Cheerful Charlie's to Sybil and most recently the fire. She heard his approach and turned, her hands swiping at her face. Carson merely pulled her into his arms and whispered, "have a good cry."

In some ways the news of William "Bill" Molesley's passing was a grateful distraction. Whispers of a blazing row between Lord and Lady Grantham were already starting to circulate.

**A/N: Sorry klswhite I had to kill someone. Batwings79 more as requested. For everyone else more is coming.**


	11. Chapter 11

With any death there were procedures to follow. The body had to be released to the undertakers for preparations for burial. Isobel had pulled up a white sheet to cover him before erecting screens around the bed. There weren't other patients but going through the procedure gave Isobel focus. The death certificate had to be completed. It was a sad fact that over the years Clarkson had become efficient at filling them out. Beside the paper he was working on was tumbler of whisky. His right hand reached for it and he sipped it slowly letting the burn of the alcohol replace the burn of losing a patient. His pen scratched against the paper overly loud in the office. That was how Isobel found him, his head propped up by his right hand as his left hand moved the pen.

She was going to tell him that the undertaker had been notified and was on his way to retrieve Mr. Molesley. However, seeing him working she decided not to break the silence. She waited patiently for him to notice her. His hand neared the bottom of the page and his signature was added. He pushed the paper towards the head of his desk and looked up.

Isobel saw many emotions swirling in him most likely the same emotions she felt herself. He rose from his desk and took her in his arms caressing her hair whispering over and over that things would be all right. She didn't understand why he was saying these things until she realized she was sobbing. Words tumbled from her lips. Richard held her as she voiced that it wasn't fair that Matthew had been taken so young. That he too should have had the time to impart his knowledge to his son that he should have seen his son grow up!

Richard's hands ran soothing circles on Isobel's back, "I wish things had been different Isobel but they're not and I'm sorry."

At his words she cried harder and he let her.

Word of Bill's death spread through village. Farmers got out their best clothes in preparation for his funeral. Joseph moved as if in a fog, his duties carried him through his day. Everyone had an opinion of what he should do next. Should he go into the family business of breeding roses? Should he turn the Molesley home into a makeshift inn?

All these whispers he shoved aside. Joseph had always thought his future was in service. That eventually he would be in Downton Abbey not as a footman but the valet to the future Earl of Grantham. When Matthew had married Mary he had quarters in the servants hall at Downton, he traveled with alongside them and he could almost taste his future.

When Matthew had been killed his purpose had died with that youngman. The jobs he had managed to find in the Village had just proven how ill equipped he was function in other professions. He knew he shouldn't begrudge his father for dying but he didn't want to be in a position to make a decision.

Baxter, no Phyllis didn't pepper him with questions of what he was going to do with his future. The truth was Phyllis had other mines to negotiate. Lord Robert had been sleeping in his dressing room she knew this fact for when she put Lady Cora to bed Lord Robert was not seconds behind her. Each morning since Lord and Lady Grantham had shut themselves away the breakfast tray Baxter delivered was removed without being touched.

Baxter had mentioned this to Carson who inturn mentioned it to Lord Grantham and he was unmoved. Robert had been through enough hunger strikes with his own children. Cora hadn't been caught nicking sweets her infraction was quite a bit more serious. If Cora wanted to indulge in this childish display he would let her.

The day of the funeral arrived, Lord Grantham had given leave to any of the servants who wished to go. The Dowager Countess of Grantham was in attendance herself and watched as the casket carrying William Molesley's body was carried to the gravesite a bouquet of the Comtesse Cabarrús he had lovingly grown perched on top.

Mrs. Patmore along with Daisy and some others from the village had organized a wake at the Molesley house. Joseph stood awkwardly accepting condolences from people. Isobel had come with Dr. Clarkson to pay their respects. Isobel saw cousin Violet and went to her while Dr. Clarkson approached Joseph.

"Oh, hello doctor" He said almost robotically.

"Are you sleeping, do you need something?" Clarkson asked.

"I'm not sure what I need." He answered truthfully.

Violet was eyeing the food suspiciously when Isobel came to her side and the two began exchanging pleasantries. They had come to a truce after Isobel had cared for her during her bout with bronchitis.

"I'm going to have young Pegg come here once a week to look on the roses." Violet announced as her hand finally nipped a canape.

Isobel smiled, she remembered a time when Pegg had been accused of stealing. How things had changed.

Slowly the villagers trickled out along with the servants from the Abbey. Joseph was left in the home he had grown up, the home had been able to return to after he had lost his job the home that was now his.

With most of the servants away Robert decided it was time to speak with his wife. He found her in her bedroom. "you never answered my question, do you love him?"

"No." She declared authoritatively.

Robert shook his head in disbelief, "Then why-"

"I was in love with the idea of him...of adventure." Cora said waving her hand.

Robert sighed harshly, "Adventure? You Americans."

At this Cora bristled, "Yes Robert! I hate to be the one to break it to you but I _am_ American. You seem to conveniently forget this fact when it suits you." Her mind replayed the argument they had right after Sybil had announced her intent to marry Tom. "I changed for you, became what you wanted...what you needed for a wife."

Indignation flared in Robert, "So you were going to throw away our marriage for adventure?"

Cora had been prepared for this and confidently delivered, "Jayne Moorsum"

Robert reacted as though he had been slapped, it was on the tip of his tongue to ask how she knew but didn't bother.

Determinedly Robert met her gaze, "I kissed her nothing more."

Cora's eyes narrowed, she had known her husband long enough to know when he was lying, "Then we're even. But let me just say if you wanted an English woman for a wife you should have married one."


	12. Chapter 12

Phyllis Baxter needed to ready her suitcase, she would be traveling to America. Lady Cora had told her last night as she readied for bed. Over breakfast Phyllis watched as the staff spoke of upcoming events and duties. None seemed to know that the Lady of the house would be leaving. She quickly took a bite of toast to keep her mouth occupied. Her passage had been booked.

Joseph Molesley wasn't at the table, for the past few days his schedule had been somewhat skewed. He had been sorting through his father's possessions. Carson had given him some wide latitude. Lady Cora had summoned the chauffeur, she was going shopping. Seeing an opportunity Phyllis left the Abbey. It didn't take her long to come the Molesley House. Her knocks went unanswered but she knew he was home. She walked around the perimeter of the house and came to a garden. There Joseph was lovingly dead heading the roses his face a look of quiet contemplation. Phyllis leaned against the brick and watched him work. He moved effortlessly, there was no misstep or hesitation. His arms were well covered and he wore gloves to avoid an allergic reaction.

Phyllis knew she couldn't watch him covertly all day so she coughed to get his attention. The change in his face was immediate, he smiled and his whole face changed. "Well hello."

"Hello" she answered back feeling her cheeks burn in a blush.

Joseph took off his hat and made a motion for her to follow him inside. He asked her, "How are things?" Phyllis told him of the ongoings, Carson's grumbling and Mrs. Patmore's wailing. She avoided talking about the frosty atmosphere between Lord and Grantham. Phyllis swore that the temperature of a room would drop twenty degrees when one of them entered. She watched as he filled a kettle with water placing it on the stove to boil. Joseph then began to place scoops of tea leaves into what looked like an ancient brown teapot. No doubt the teapot had belonged to his father and mother. It was during his fourth scoop that she told him what he needed to know, "I'm going to America."

His hands stopped, mercifully he didn't spill the tea leaves. Once Phyllis had seen the shock she amended. "With Lady Cora, she's going for a visit...so I'm told."

"To see her Mother?" He asked.

Phyllis nodded, Lady Cora had mentioned Mrs. Levinson yet something in the voice alerted her that this would not the real reason.

The relief in his face was palpable, "So you'll be back?"

Phyllis had decided long ago that Britain was where she wanted to live. She no qualms about visiting new countries but she always wanted to return home. She didn't know if Lady Cora would be remaining indefinitely in America, if she did Phyllis would give notice and travel back to Britain. "will you be at the Abbey when I get back?" Phyllis asked.

Joseph sighed, he still had no clue as to what he was going to do. "I'm not leaving Downton."

Now it was Phyllis who bore the look of relief. Joseph swallowed fortifying his nerves, he moved towards the woman he had come to love and placed his lips to hers. The kiss was awkward and sweet. Phyllis wasn't repulsed by his actions. In fact she reached for him to pull him closer. He didn't stumble or shuffle awkwardly, the grace that he had displayed in the garden weaving amongst the roses was still with him as his arms wound around Phyllis.

* * *

Lady Mary sat as Anna adjusted the tiara in her hair. Tonight's dinner would be an ordeal, Lady Mary knew that her parents were quarreling, but she was choosing to ignore it. She didn't want to be pulled into the skirmish listening to perceived slights and being asked to join a side. Edith had fled to London and Rose was off _somewhere_. She smiled to Anna before dismissing her, with the closing of the door Mary sighed. Truth be told she was flustered, Lord Gillingham had been at the Abbey inspecting the repairs. With his presence she began to feel as she did years ago when Matthew had been alive. She enjoyed Anthony's presence and that scared her. Part of her wanted to embrace being a widow being loyal to Matthew forever. She then thought of her Grandmother, she was a widow. Mary openly scoffed, Granny was not the widow she wanted to emulate. Her thoughts turned to Isobel for she was also a widow. She had channeled her loneliness into work. While she respected and loved both women she didn't want to become either of them.

Being a sarcastic-bitter-realist or an idealized-optimistic-advocate. What could she do? The answer seemed almost too simplistic _don't be a widow._

Tomorrow Lord Gillingham would be leaving Downton and Mary felt guilt that she wanted him to stay. There was a knock at her door and Anthony was there. Ever since the house party when Dame Nellie's rich voice had filled the Abbey he had been attracted to her. When she had asked him to terminate Mr. Green he did so...he would do anything for her. Seeing her now he became overwhelmed with the urge to hold her. Taking two long strides he closed the distance between them and kissed her.

What Mary had secretly hoped would happen actually shocked her and she pushed him away. It took only a small amount of pressure from her hands for him to move away.

"I'm sorry, forgive me." He rasped.

Mary felt a giggle threatening to emerge, "There's nothing to forgive, you just caught me off guard."

Anthony had paled, her words had not given him solace. Mary moved back towards him, this man wasn't Matthew. No man she would meet would be Matthew. However, at this moment Anthony was here and alive.

"Let's go downstairs." She said softly purposefully threading her arm through his.

At her touch he relaxed and the pair went downstairs.

**A/N: Finally got the Lady Mary snippet.**


	13. Chapter 13

Doctor Clarkson was in his office, the light from his lamp illuminating the files he was working on. The sun had set a few hours ago. His rationale was that if he stayed up late and completed the work he could have a lie in.

_Best laid plans_

He smirked at the thought. Generally whenever he tried to gain some measure of control in his work it backfired. Yet here he was reviewing patient charts. Isobel was waiting for him and that made him want to complete the task all the more. The nights she spent with him were gifts he cherished. He wanted to go to bed with her and wake up with her. He didn't want to wake up early and leave her or wake up to find she had gone. To be able to wake up as his body wanted to with Isobel next to him. Finally the charts were finished and he could leave.

The night air bit at his face as he left the hospital. He was fighting the urge to shiver by the time he reached his cottage. Inside he found the cottage warm, a fire had been lit and he knelt down to stoke it. It was during this time that he felt hands on his shoulders. One of his own hands went to cover hers. This intimacy was what he craved, it satiated a need he never knew he had. As a doctor he cared for others and it had been instilled him that as a man it was his duty to care for women. Offer up a seat, open doors and provide. Having Isobel in the cottage having made a fire for him made him feel more than loved he knew he was cared for.

He stood up and turned to face her, gently he took her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly. The flames on the wall made their shadows flicker and dance. Slowly they parted, and Isobel asked, "Richard, what do you want?"

"I want to take you to bed." He whispered.

Isobel reached for his tie and loosened it, "I want that too."

Hearing her say that had him diving at her again the crackling of the fire was accentuated by the wet sounds of their lips meeting. The pair traded kisses all they made their way to the bed. The novelty of Richards small bed had soon worn off and Isobel had paid for a larger one to be delivered to the Doctor's cottage. It was _their_ bed, a laugh escaped Isobel as both of them fell to the mattress. The laughter turned to sighs as flesh met flesh. As they rocked against one another all that could be heard was their breathing and moans. The bed was new and didn't creak. Isobel found she wanted the sounds of straining wood, she was determined that this bed would make that noise. It was her last thought before Richard canted his hips and all her thoughts fled.

The sun was rising over the water the ripples in the water made the sun shatter into tiny pieces.

_Fragments_

Cora's mind supplied, she watched as the water became the dominant constant on the horizon, the mass of land would soon be an insignificant dot. Sighing she leaned back into a pair of strong arms. Warm palms slid down her shoulders and arms and she closed her eyes. It would a few days before another landmass would be visible-North America.

The hands belonged to her husband, both of them were on their way to the United States. Both of them had admitted that their marriage had become stagnant, a stable misery. Both had sought excitement outside of their marriage and both had blamed the other. For his part Robert had come to the understanding that he needed to accept that Cora was American. It was this fact that had attracted him to her. It was him turn to view her country of origin. Cora was still going to Pennsylvania to see the museum but she was going with Robert. She was going to share her love art, of modern art. As she turned her attention back to the water she could still see the pieces of the sun floating. Pieces that some might think would never go back together. She had thought their marriage had been like that shattered or like the portrait that been destroyed in the fire and had to have been replaced. However, Cora knew by viewing mosaics that some of the most beautiful artwork was made up of pieces.

**A/N: Hope all have enjoyed my interpretations of the snippets from the trailers.**


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